Episode 73

The Silk Hat

The Silk Hat was more akin to a sow’s ear than its namesake. The saloon on the main street was barely a step above a dirt-floored shot house. A barrelhead bar and a few creaky tables and chairs set upon an uneven floor of rail ties. The place was dim even in daylight. The glass windows in the front had been long ago shot out. The windows were boarded over, keeping out the light and trapping in the stink of sweat, smoke and stale hops.

A couple of shopkeeps were leaning at the bar drinking away the profits for the day. Another man sat in the dark rear corner of the saloon in whispered conversation with Molly, one of the girls who worked the Silk Hat. They were probably negotiating the price of a trip upstairs to one of the rooms that occupied the second floor. Seated at the center table to take advantage of the bar of light coming in through the open doorway, two men Cal knew sat playing cards. A penny ante game that neither man seemed all that interested in. They were only playing stud as neither trusted the other to draw cards.

Cal ordered a shot and a beer, and the barman set them up and took two bits.

Nestor Cedillo threw down cards as his opponent raked in a pile worth about fifteen cents. A man Cal knew only as Old Pete added to his pile of nickels and pennies before he dealt them both a new hand from a dogeared deck of pasteboards. There was a Young Pete until a few months ago when he fell asleep on the rail tracks and had his head taken off by an ore train. Folks just kept on calling Old Pete by the sobriquet they knew him by. After all, one never knew when a new, younger Pete might show up in Eagle Flat. Folks in West Texas were not fond of change for its own sake.

Cal liked Nestor though he wasn’t sure how the Mexican felt about him. The man was maybe ten years older than Cal and had arrived in town when a cattle drive came through. There was some kind of disagreement with the drover boss and Nestor was left behind when the herd moved on. He had twenty dollars in his pocket but that was a couple of months ago. He’d either have to work on his luck or move on soon.

“Que pasa, amigo,” Cal said as he took an empty seat at the table. He poured his shot into his beer and watched the foam settle.

“You playin’?” Old Pete said and Cal shook his head.

“What’re you doing talking Mexican?” Nestor growled though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m half Mexican,” Cal said. “My mama was a Ruiz.”

“Your mama was a Texican,” Nestor snorted. “And God alone knows who your father was. But he gave you green eyes, so he was some brand of white man.”

“She said he was a gambler.”

“So, she gave you the name Spade. Tienes suerte, chico. You could have been Cal Hearts. Or Cal Clubs.”

“You gonna keep playing or do you have time to talk?”

“I think I’m done losing for today,” Nestor said with a hiss and tossed his hand to the table. “I talk better with a wet tongue.”

They both walked to the bar and Cal stood the Mexican a drink, a shot and beer just like his.

“You moving on soon or could you be looking for work?” Cal said when they’d both drained half their mugs.

Nestor blew air through his lips that fluttered his thick mustache. His dark eyes were fixed on Molly. A tinkle of laughter came from the back table as the whore gave the man there with her a playful slap.

“What kind of work?”

“I need a partner for regulating. It’s good pay. Railroad work.”

“Why me, chico?”

“I never seen you sloppy drunk or mean drunk. You have a gun.” Cal nodded at the revolver slung low in a conchoed holster against the Mexican’s hip.

“I got a rifle, too, but no pony.”

“How’d that happen? You sell it?”

“It was a company horse. I lost it when I lost my job.”

“I got a horse you can have. A three-year-old mare.”

“How do you have a mount to spare?”

“It was Jake Ford’s. He don’t need it any more. He died up around the Horsehead.” Cal saw the hesitation in Nestor’s eyes and continued on. “Not on the job. He got thrown riding like a fool. A rock caved in his skull.”

“But the horse is all right?” Nestor said.

“Right as rain.”

“I want you to tell me more about the job but would not be able to hear you over the rumbles of my belly.” Nestor grinned, showing off a tooth capped in silver.

Cal explained more about his duties over steak and peppers paid for by Cal at a cook tent.

“The Texas & Pacific pays fifty bucks a month to each rider to cover their holdings to the north and south of the rail line. We run off squatters and wildcat miners. A little buffaloing and they move right along. Germans and Poles mostly. They don’t want no trouble and clear out with a little prodding.”

“You said Jake died up on the Horsehead.” Nestor wiped his plate with a wad he’d torn from a tortilla. “That’s a long way off from the tracks.”

“That’s the territory. It’s a week’s ride in either direction and, most days, we won’t see anything other than the ass of each other’s horse.”

“A week south of here takes us into the Chisos. That’s Mescalero country.”

“So, I hear. I been riding that way a while and never seen an Apache.”

“You never would. But they are there, mi amigo. Thad Jones very nearly had his scalp taken. He said it was Gato Amarillo.”

“I heard that. Jonesy says a dragon saved his hide. You really think he met Gato? I think he was sun struck.”

“Maybe so. Maybe not,” Nestor shrugged. His plate clean, he was rolling himself a cigarette. “But the Apache, whatever name they are called, are out there.”

“Uh huh,” Cal laughed. “One behind every rock.”

“And a virgin behind every tree.” Both men laughed at that.

“You want the job or not?” Cal said.

“Well, chico, my tongue is wet and my belly is full.” Nestor blew a stream of blue smoke toward the canvas ceiling above them. “And now I wonder what that gabacho said to Molly that she found so cómico.”

“If I give you a dollar to find out does that mean you’ll partner up with me?” Cal held up a dollar coin.

“If the horse is good.”

“She’s a better ride than Molly,” Cal said and flipped the coin for Nestor to snatch out of the air.

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